


'90% Transparency'

by commuovere



Category: boku no hero, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Fic, Car Accidents, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Platonic Relationships, Slice of Life, Swearing, TW: Mental Health, Teen Angst, band au, friendships, know when to ask for help, somewhat dadzawa, this is not a shipping fic please, very light though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 07:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12700584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commuovere/pseuds/commuovere
Summary: Aizawa is not one for complete, 100% transparency."As tired, drained, and as exhausted as you are;You do make a difference.No matter how many mistakes, mess ups, or failures that you’ve had;You do make a difference.The world would be lacking if you were not here. In every aspect. In every way. Why?Because you do make a difference."-Nicole Addison





	'90% Transparency'

**Author's Note:**

> * During the fic, I refer to their last names, but when they speak to each other I refer to their first names  
> * 100% transparency means a state where you are always completely honest about your self, your feelings, etc. No secrets in a relationship/friendship and complete trust.  
> * I don't use Japanese honorifics, because if I'm writing in English, it makes more sense to be this way.  
> * Sorry for any spelling and grammar errors, I honestly can't tell anymore.  
> * There are songs linked throughout the fic, please take a listen!  
> * Nemuri Kayama is Midnight :)  
> * I appreciate all comments and responses to this fic!! I would really like to hear how you felt!

 

[[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxhdywWbtEk)]

 

Aizawa is not one for complete, 100% transparency.

It’s something his co-workers (friends?) deal with, like a  game for them to ruminate on Aizawa’s mood for the day. Dry lips, and permanent scowl? Read as: Taste tasted too much coffee the previous night. Purple eye bags and scruffy chin? Overworked himself to  4 a.m. Read as: Please do not bother the poor man.

Graduate school had been rough, and the first thing Aizawa learned after graduating was that a master in mathematics gave him quite the advantage in preparing the perfect concoction of americanos and espressos. Tutoring high schoolers for extra cash taught him the second thing: never look into their eyes, you’ll make them cry. Aizawa never understood whether it was because of his neutral-to-judgemental scowl, or the sharpness of his gaze. Funnily enough, they never responded when he asked.

     “Shouta, why don’t you try applying for new jobs? Are you planning on _inheriting_ this coffee shop? Which--by the way--will not happen any time soon.”

     “Thanks for letting me know. I needed to be reassured that I’m shit out of luck for the next ten years.”

Yamada Hisashi’s gritty, megaphone volume voice shatters the stillness of his soft evening. Aizawa was the moon; nightowl, quiet, and shined best when alone. Yamada was the sun in this friendship; bright, overbearing, and ridiculously in your face. Somehow, the sun and the moon that should never meet became friends, and here Aizawa was, ten years later in the company of the man who spent his evenings mooching off of free coffee and pestering him to get a real job. Aizawa forgets to remind him that the only reason there was any free coffee at all was _because_ of this job.

     “I tell you that everyday bro, it’s nothing new.” Yamada flips his hair over his shoulders and Aizawa imagined it would be a really good time to just chop some off. The love his friend had for those blond locks was incredibly unrealistic, and Aizawa needed a good outlet to blow steam. Besides, imagining bad things happen to Yamada’s hair was cathartic.

Its unfortunate it all happens in his head though, and Yamada would proceed to a dramatic snapping of his fingers to wake him out.

     “Cream or no cream,” Aizawa grunts.

     “You have all these opportunities with that calculative mind of yours-- _cream_ \--why would you let that awesome degree go to waste?”

Aizawa slides the cup of medium roast towards the blond maniac, the dollop of fresh cream dripping off the lip. Yamada’s attempt # 134 was going fairly horrible, and Aizawa felt bad for all his wasted effort.

     “Your coffee is going to be cold if you keep talking.” Aizawa drags his hair half up into a lazy bun, and his friend tuts in disapproval.

     “The opportunity doesn’t arise unless you actually expend an effort, Shouta. It doesn’t just pop up out of the ground and ask you to take its hands ” Yamada’s arms are in the air, waving dramatically like a Shakespearean comedy.

     “ Fancy advice coming from a man who has 5 hour energy drinks for breakfast.”

     “ At least I _try_ to give myself energy in the morning. You’re like a burnt out exhaust.”

     “Shut up and drink your coffee.” Aizawa grumbles, but Yamada continues talking. It ends up being ambient noise for him while he works.

 

____

 

Thoughts were lifeless you see, but Aizawa was consumed by them. Like for example, why did that elderly lady come at exactly 10:15 every morning for hours, only to watch the streets from inside the cafe? Or, like he soon realized, the coffee shop was never actually silent even if it was quiet because the soft rumbling of the fridge and plugged in machines always hummed in the background. And not to mention the heaviest thought of all; the subtle yet prolonging worry that he indeed was going to work at a coffee shop for the rest of his life.

It’s not that Aizawa didn’t care about what Yamada told him. It was that with his personality and his intellect, he found it difficult to do just any job. Could you imagine him as a teacher? He chagrined at the idea that 20 pairs of of hopeful, sparkling eyes would watch him for hours a day. Yamada, the journalism and communications double major, was a successful radio host and english teacher, but with a contagious personality, loud mouth and a smile that reached both ears, this wasn’t the end for him. Aizawa always wondered why _he_ couldn’t crack a smile that wide. I mean his teeth were pretty white and straight. He had braces in primary school.

That’s it, his life was a list of three things: coffee work, tutor work, and sleep. Very limited sleep.

     “Professor Aizawa--”

     “Not a prof,”

     “---sorry!! Sorry! But...I just wanted to ask...could you give me career advice?”

They were both fifteen, Ochako and Izuku, two of his most dedicated….students? Saturdays were his group tutoring, and Aizawa was expecting more people, but alas only these two came together as they always promised. He didn’t think he would be asked this question from especially her, the Ururuka with the kind and fierce eyes. He didn’t think he would be asked that question at all actually. It was pretty obvious he wasn’t exactly at his optimal career right now. Izuku watches with hopeful patience, and Aizawa’s gut twists from how incredibly unprepared he was for this question.

He clears his throat and leans back into his chair.

     “Why are you asking this now? You guys aren’t even seniors yet.” _Stall, Shouta, stall._

She shifts uncomfortably, pencil rolling between her fingers.

     “Um. Well, if I can’t solve these math problems after trying hundreds of times, I wonder if I should give up”

     “Give up? What do you want to be?”

He curses the educational system that stresses teenagers to the point of depression. He used to be one of those teens. Guess he never really got out of that state though.

She recoils when he asks this, and Izuku’s eyes are flooded with sympathy. God, that kid’s emotions were easily painted in every crevice of his face. But it’s like she’s retreated into a shell, despite her usual bubble of determination. Aizawa finds himself frowning--what exactly would make a girl like that embarassed to say her ambition?

     “It’s alright. You can say it.”

He hates that his voice sounds so forceful.

     “... _astronaut…_ ”

The word reaches him with a delay, and it takes a moment to nestle in his ears. Astronaut. She wants to explore the skies and add to interplanetary exploration. What’s so embarrassing about that?

     “Why...what-”

     “I know. I know Mr.Aizawa. I got a 59% on my last exam. Becoming an astronaut means lots of math, lots of physics, lots of calculations, lots of brain--”

     “Why do you think you don’t have enough brain?”

She’s rigid, and Aizawa realizes his voice came off too brash. Was he trying to scold her?? _Okay, wrong, wrong. You don’t say that to kids, you idiot._ He swallows, and tries to gather himself by leaning against the table.

     “Huh?”

     “I mean...I mean, Ururuka, I was going to ask you why are you embarrassed?”

Izuku looks like he wants to help, but Aizawa’s subtle “no” reaches him. It is her time to speak. The boy closes his lips, and watches his friend with utmost, unconditional sincerity.

     “Because, I haven’t been doing good at school. And to become someone that great, you need to practically have a perfect record.”

     “Who said that?”

     “W-well, I figured--”

     “Hold on. Midoriya, what would Ururuka say to someone who was judging themselves based on their grades?”

Izuku straightens up so fast, Aizawa thought he was going to rocket to the ceiling.

     “She would definitely scold them and say that we are not judged by two numbers on a paper. Rather by who we are as a person and how hard we work!” 

Ochako’s eyes are like glass now, her fingers tightly woven into her lap. But _he_ knows that _she_ knows.

     “Then, you know who you are, and who you should be. Why don’t you listen to yourself?”

     “What if I’m wrong?”

He sighs. This was definitely not what he expected. He was a math tutor not a life tutor. But he didn’t exactly hate it either.

     “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

Her chin dips, and her eyes find Izuku’s gentle smile.

     “You’re right..”

There is a brief quietness, and then she sucks up a breath, moving to gather her belongings. Aizawa finds himself wondering if he’s said the right things, if his approach wasn’t like sandpaper, if he was able to ignite some motivation within her heart. To him, he felt like a blunder. I mean “ _why do you think you don’t have enough brain”?_ Mentally berating himself, he clears his throat again, and rises to watch them leave. It was hard not to notice the steep slope of her shoulders, and a deep wrinkle settling between her brows, the kind a fifteen year old shouldn’t have. How could he lead her to comfort? How could he let her know that the strength of her conviction was what would lead her to success? He lets out a breath. 

     “One more thing,” They both turn, and Aizawa forces himself to match their pressing gaze. “You...You are a work in progress. Both of you are. So, Ururuka, do your best. Go become an astronaut. But I want to tell you, that even if you didn’t, it’s okay. Even if you didn’t, everyone will still be right here waiting for you.”

The words seem have found their way to her ears. With a deep bow, she wordlessly turns to leave while  Izuku thanks him profusely. Were his efforts futile? Did it really work? Did he really help? It's like she wants to answer his anxiety because right before the door, she whips around, this time with a smile he hasn't seen on her lips today. It reminds him somehow of daybreak; soft, glowy, a little shy, but stubborn in its greatness.   _Thank you,_ it says. Aizawa finds his lips curling upwards for the first time in a long while.

 

____

 

The day Yamada comes in with a new idea was the day Aizawa thought he’d quit his job(s) and move to England.

     “I started a band, and-”

     “No. Nope.”

     “Will you at least just try?? To?? Listen??” Yamada’s hair slips over his shoulder and almost into his coffee. No hairband today again apparently.

     “I’m not getting into a band. I played bass for--”  
  
     “Close to 10 years! SHOUTA, TEN YEARS. You can’t refuse, besides, the person I started it with is coming in about 15 minutes and she’s expecting a yes from you because I ma y or may not said you would probably agree…” Yamada continues talking so Aizawa can't find space to refuse. Aizawa’s piercing gaze would normally dissuade any victim, but not Yamada, no. Yamada was the definition of shameless.

She ends up walking in much later than fifteen minutes, close to an hour at that, and when she does, Yamada is about the same light spectrum as the sun.

      “Nemuri! Thank God you made it, my friend here was about to eat me alive. Nemuri, this is Aizawa Shouta, math grad from the same uni we went to. Shouta, Kayama Nemuri, astrophysics grad, currently on track to NASA, and coincidentally the best fucking drummer I’ve ever seen--heard.”

Long, dark hair almost reaching her waist. Colorless spectacles that seemed not to be of the prescription kind. Low cut tank top. Studded jean jacket and shorts. Exactly Yamada’s type. Nothing about her said astrophysicist. Everything about her said she couldn’t care less what you thought.

It was refreshing.

     “Pleasure to meet you.” Aizawa nods, but she sort of leans over the counter like she already established her propriety over it.

     “So you’re the guy he wouldn’t shut up about. Are you good?”

     “At?” Aizawa shoots Yamada a look but the later seemed very adamant about staring into Kayama’s hair.

     “Bass.”

     “Maybe. But-”

     “That’s all we need. Not quite the image. But we’ll work on you. I’m free Monday, Wednesday, Fridays from 3-5pm.

     “Well, I’m not. I tutor high schoolers Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays from 4-6 pm.

She turns swiftly to Yamada, to which the later seems to want to piss his pants.

    “I thought you said he was free?”

     “And I thought he was a real friend!”

Aizawa shakes his head and begins brewing. She takes a confused seat  while watching his hands swiftly ground coffee.

     “Americano?”

     “Americano.”

 

Turns out Yamada really wanted to have a stable music band. Yamada would be the vocalist and acoustic guitar (when did he learn that?), Kayama would be the drummer, and Aizawa presumably the bassist. Any other band members needed would come and go. Whether for hobby or for work, Yamada thought it would be great to utilize the barely used stage sitting in the corner of the coffee shop. Aizawa took the chance to remind him that there wouldn’t even be a stage if he wasn’t working here. Yamada pretends not to listen.

But really, Aizawa was not ready for the commitment, let alone the noise.

     “Look, Miss Kayama--”

     “Nemuri.”

     “ _Nemuri_ , I don’t think I have the time for this. I help high schoolers with math, make coffee, then go home and watch tv with my cat. That’s enough for me.”

She doesn’t seem to think much of it, but Yamada never could quite understand how Aizawa lives a life that felt like "the dementors of Harry Potter would be scared of you”.

     “Everyone to themselves. But I think we need _you_ to balance out _him_.”

She thrusts a thumb towards Yamada’s direction and his friend never looked more embarrassed. Aizawa continues drying washed mugs, and he notices Kayama's eyes follow his every movement as if in a trance. Yet, he can’t stop thinking how much his hair bun was beginning to itch, much like the unrelenting nature of both Kayama and Yamada. No wonder they became friends. Kayama has brought up literally as much reasons for Aizawa to join as there was people in this city. Persistent, and never taking no for an answer.

     “I haven’t played in a long time, and I don’t think I’m going to now.”

     “Okay. How about this. Give me one legitimate reason, besides the fact that you love your cat, why you _shouldn’t_ join this band.”

He squints his eyes at her testing glare.

     “Give me one legitimate reason why I _should_.”

 

It’s been three hours since she'd arrived at the shop. What seems to Aizawa as a 1001 reasons and 100 coffees later. And only now is she able to tell him something that would make him think.

     “Through music I found myself and I want you to find yourself too.”

The clamor of the shop mixed with their incessant voices, begins ringing in his ears.

     “Why do you think I need finding?”

She finally gets up from her seat and straightens her jacket as if this was the last move she’d make in the game of chess. Everything about the way she rolls her shoulders back and points her chin makes her look like she had the killing move. _Checkmate_.

     “You’re a guy who wipes every inch of these counters and every one of this cups with _so_ much detail that it’s as if you’re looking for something you’ve lost. You’re drowning and you don’t even see it.”

 

 _Ah_.

 

Yamada sets his lips, blinking seriously for the first time in a long while. He wordlessly rises to follow Kayama out and Aizawa begins to turn over those words in his brain like a broken record. So those who were his age found him lost. It made him feel small, insignificant and childish even. Like he had been playing in the sandbox this whole time while they were all climbing the jungle gym. Join a band to get therapy? That’s nonsense. His watches her hair swish side to side like a metronome, then lets her and Yamada disappear past the glass. The cup in in hand is staring up at him, and he's irritated that even the white porcelain seemed strangely judgmental.

 

____

 

      “Fine. I’ll do it. But I can’t work with your times.”

Read as: he definitely didn’t want to do it.

But, that was the paradox Aizawa Shouta was. He often found himself in positions he didn’t want to be in and in places he didn’t want to go to. It was hard to fight the way life dragged him to different checkpoints. Moreover he didn’t want to admit Kayama’s words really hit a nerve. Yamada looks like he is about to burst.

     “GOOD FREAKING GOD SHOUTA, I was about to lose all faith in YOU.”

So this was the address Yamada messaged him. A quaint, square studio, presumably belonging to Kayma. One corner of it was the music hub, the other corner was the “hub of existential thought” as the terribly written sign said on the wall. When he eyes the papers however, they were long chains of mathematical calculations.  Kayama defintely was a paradox of a woman as well. She steps wordlessly away from the drum set, this time donning the outfit equivalent of a motorcyclist, and presses a red, painted nail to his chest.

     “Are you sure you’re serious about this? Do you promise to give it your all?”

When he first met Kayama, Aizawa knew she would either be the person who took things very seriously or very lightly with no in between.  But now, he knew she wasn’t playing the game of ball, but a game of chess. I mean, even the gothic outfit she wore today was meant with all purposeful intent. Her eyes are suffocating, and Aizawa was practically invading the sanctuary of this band. Music, wherever it was played, was Kayama’s home. No one was about to mess that up. She was so close that he could feel the feather of her breath against his cheek, but he could look nowhere but the heaviness of her bold, curved eyes. He thinks that she was a lot like the midnight sky. You could easily drown in the dimensions of her being.

     “Yes. I promise. ”

Yamada lets out the audible, huffed breath he was holding, and after a prolonged moment of stillness, Kayama points at an instrument leaning against the wall. It watches him impatiently, and from one look Aizawa can tell it has been quite unused. When he picks it up, the weight settles comfortably in his hands, like an important puzzle piece that had been long forgotten but desperately needed. A bass guitar. An anticipating bass guitar. As if it was waiting for someone to bring it to life. Kind of like a noble steed, it needed to find purpose. Like Thor and his hammer. Aizawa’s fingers brush over the strings, callouses remembering the chords where they were hardened, the familiar tinged metal smell twisting up his nose. He plucks a string, to test the vibration against the empty walls. The sound comes running back to him with excitement.

Somehow he knows they’re smiling.

     “Well. Are you going to start?” Aizawa pulls the guitar over his head, plugging in the wires as if he has been doing this every day. His eyes find Kayama’s, and there is an unmistakable mirth in her gaze.  Yamada’s laughter is loud and clear.

     “Oh, hell _yes_.”

____

 

Life kind of continues in this way. Now added to the coffee making, the tutoring, the grading, and the minimal sleeping was “band practice” twice a week. His cat seems to be angry at him, refusing to sleep at the end of his bed. And much to his chagrin, Aizawa found his fingers itching to play even when relaxing at home.

Although Aizawa pretty much disagreed with every song Yamada wanted to cover, it didn’t quite matter what they played as long as Aizawa was able to produce that magic on his own. The best thing about a band was having multiple different interpretations of the same song in one place. How amazing was that?

     “Why don’t you want to become a real teacher?” Her persistent voice worms its away through the cacophony of their surroundings. She scribbles her answers absentmindedly, and Aizawa would scold her for her lack of focus, if not for the way her lips pursed when she was thinking hard about something. Besides the music Aizawa was becoming attached too, he was also becoming attached to this ambitious highschooler. She never stopped moving, her energy like that of the eternal spinning of the planets in space. Moving towards the unknown, but moving nonetheless. Why was Aizawa, the lethargic one, always hanging around the ones who seemed to bounce off walls? He liked her energy though, and he found himself thinking that if he could help one person in his life, he would want it to be her.

     “I don’t think I’m comfortable enough.”

     “But, you do a perfectly good job of teaching me!” She protests immediately, jamming her mechanical pencil in the process. Aizawa calmly begins to fix the spring for her.

     “One of you is very different from directing a room full of you. I don’t think I would be able to handle a room full of you.”

She pouts at his words and Aizawa is very amused.

     “I’m sure you could do it though. The world needs a teacher like you.”

It takes a while to let the words sink, but Aizawa knots his fingers and leans forward in his chair.

     “How so?”

      “Well, for one. You don’t lie to your students. You’re very, very patient. And also very easy to talk to! In Math, no one wants a mean teacher.”

She waves her hand with a scrunch of her nose, and Aizawa finds himself ruffling the front of her bangs.

     “Do your homework, problem child.”

And although she huffs okay, not ten minutes pass before she speaks again. This time, Aizawa’s testing glare makes her voice, very, very small.

     “Mr.Aizawa, I just really have to say this....you seem a lot happier than usual!” She's practically beaming and Aizawa observes her writing the wrong answer to the parabola.

     “Happier?” Aizawa scoffs, taking her pencil and erasing the wrong solution. 

     “Yes! Are you…. getting married???” 

     “Married?! What are you saying?”

He practically chokes, the eraser dust rising like fumes into his nose.

     “Yes, yes! It’s like...like...I guess...you seem like you’re NOT about to fall asleep any second like before." 

She giggles, and Aizawa breaths out through his nose. She tried so hard only to describe him like this? He shakes his head softly.

     “Flattering. Very flattering.”

     “Soooorryyyyyy,”

     “But...to clear that up, nothing happened, except that in a band now, Ururaka, if anything I’m getting much less sleep.” He really doesn’t know why he’s telling her this, but Ururaka was the unpredictable chapter of his life. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was completely out of character in front of her.

At the word “band”, she shines another shade of excitement. It was magnificent really. 

     “OooOOoh! Band? What instrument do you play!”

     “I’m...a bass guitarist.”

     “Mr.Aizawa, that’s so cool! Can I watch you play sometime?”

He smiles. It's been a while since someone has asked that question. Were things maybe going to be okay? No, no, he shouldn't come to that conclusion. The shadows were merely taking a break for a while. But it would be great, if they missed their appointment to return. 

     “Yes. After you get all your homework problems right.” He taps at the crumpled lined papers and she practically squeals in delight, dropping her head to work as fast as possible.

 

 _Please. Take your time coming back._ He begged. _Let me be alright for a while._

 

____

 

Things really didn’t go the way he wanted however.

One day, Ururaka said he seemed happier, and he would really feel that he was.

The next day, Aizawa would want to spit in the mirror at his own reflection. What was he doing with his life? He felt a little disgusted. Like he wanted to peel himself out of his own skin. Like he wanted to be sucked into the Bermuda Triangle. Or maybe he’d feel better if the whole planet was sucked in a black hole. Have you ever felt this revolted with yourself? And he knew this wasn’t something you could just describe to someone. How could you make someone understand that your happiness wasn’t always “on”. It had a switch that was always involuntarily turned off. He had no control over that switch, or when it would flicker to darkness. He had no control when they sky looked blue vs when the sky looked gray.  Or when the black coffee would look as clear as a mirror vs as murky as a swamp. To him, it seemed life wanted his happiness switch to be turned permanently off.

And when the coffee shop announced it’s closing in the next three months, the switch did exactly that. It flicked to darkness and broke it’s own handle.

 

_____

 

Aizawa’s  number of students has greatly decreased. Only about four remained: Ochako, Izuku, Tenya, and an angry kid named Katsuki. Three out of four of them didn’t quite need the tutoring--it was more of extra practice. But Ururuka struggled day to day, and though her strings of persistence remained, they thinned from ropes to threads consistently. He was worried for her, but then his own life continued it’s downward, sickening spiral.

Time seemed to drawl, the noises of the coffee shop rang louder each day with it’s imminent closing and sleep evaded him like a villain on a chase. The fall weather was settling in also, allowing the darkness to seep in faster, and the fatigue to nestle victoriously in his body. No longer did he have tolerance for long lectures from his friend, for the pounding of Kayama’s drums. No longer did his body want to move any faster, his feet dragging, his movements weary. He was that sputtering exhaust ready to blow out. He began to ignore Yamada’s calls and Kayama’s texts. He would leave work early to skip out on seeing the two. And more importantly the bass guitar he brought back home was locked in the closet on house arrest. His cat began to nuzzle him to sleep again, but it wasn't exactly a success for him.

That’s how it really was; one day you think things are looking up, the next day they fall faster and stronger than Niagra Falls. Kayama had been wrong, he hadn’t been quite finding himself. Instead what he did find, was himself more lost than ever.

But life was the greatest professor. And today, it was going to teach him how to care about another life more than he thought was possible. Izuku bursts into the coffee shop, one Friday evening, lips trembling, and sweat peeling off his forehead. Everything about his expression was twisted and wrinkled with a heightened sense of sadness, urgency, and despair. It didn't take long for Aizawa to start moving on his own accord.

     “Teacher…S-she’s---”

Without a word, Aizawa dashes out the door behind Izuku realizing in this moment, there was no other title he would have wanted to be called but “teacher”.

 

____

[[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Moh0Snhh-nk)]

 

     “There was a car accident. Drunk driving. Her right arm has suffered severe nerve damage, and will most likely obtain permanent paralysis. The rest of her body is okay. Her parents are also injured, but there is no life-threatening seriousness to their injuries.”

Aizawa tries desperately to remain a poker face, but his body is pulsing, like he can feel every thrust of blood through his veins. Izuku, despite the younger one, asks for the way to the emergency, and Aizawa’s finds himself moving faster than was possible. His body is sticky, his heart shuddering. _But at_ _least she is alive. At least she is okay...But...what really constitutes being okay?_

He knew. The mental damage she may have suffered could be far greater. 

When they arrived, Ururuka was awake. There was not much time for visiting, and Aizawa shuffles to the side of her bed. Izuku was outside because visitors can go only go in one at a time. He wasn't sure he could do this alone though; it's not like Aizawa was the softest, and most empathetic person. But there was nothing else he could do but find her side, and try to speak. He can hear himself breathe incredibly loud; it’s shaky, heavy and uncontrollable all at once. But she didn’t look at him. Her eyes were soullessly staring up at the ceiling, like two bottomless black holes. They had been galaxies of stars before.

     “Ochako.” He calls her, his voice strained and stretched like gum, distant from his ears. Still she doesn’t look at him, and the worst was, there were no tears in those dry eyes. The sheets were pooled around her left fist. She would grasp them so tightly that her knuckles would stretch white, and let go. Grab, and let go. Grab and let go. As if she wanted to confirm feeling and strength on the hand she had left. As if she hoped it was all a terrible nightmare.

     “Mr. Aizawa,” she starts after a good few minutes. Her voice is shockingly clear. Eerily clear. “Is the universe trying to tell me something? Does the universe hate me?”

She raises her left hand, trying to reach the ceiling, watching the back of her palm with a sullen indifference. He doesn’t know how to respond to her. What do they usually say in these situations? How should he tell her she will be okay---but was that a lie or a truth? How could he be the mentor she needs in the time of emotional and physical crisis? He swallows thickly, his mouth parched and tasting like he swallowed glue.

     “No. No, it does not.” He tries to respond steadily, but it comes out low and unconvincing. Ururaka lets her hand drop with a loud thunk to the bed.

     “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else. I know. I said I would give up before, even though I thought I was becoming okay. So, the universe chose for me.”

Ururaka once seemed to defy gravity, nothing being able to stop her rising. But now she was grounded, locked in place, caged but desperate like a bird trying to break free. He cannot read her expression but her lips pull up to the most painstaking smile he unfortunately bore witness to. It tore against his throat to the point he felt he would shed tears over that smile. But then her lips trembled, her eyebrows furrowing, her eyelashes fluttering. She wouldn’t be able to hold it in. She couldn’t.

     “I k-know. I know, what I said. But w-why does it hurt so much?”

And her body shakes, the tears free flowing down her scorched cheeks. Aizawa’s legs felt weak, a stinging blooming across his chest like wildfire. It never was about the hand. The wails from her lips found his ears and he would never be able to forget how sorrowful it rang, he would never be able to forget the trembling weakness that emerged from her throat, the way her shoulders quivered against his, the sound of choking, the hotness of tears against his cheeks. He almost didn’t want to be witness, didn’t want to hear the grieving. Because like a dying star she was suddenly a kaleidoscope of escaping, blinding colors. And all he could do was let her helplessly cry into his shoulder. He was useless to her pain. Absolutely useless.

Ochako had been right handed. She wouldn’t be able to use that arm again.

 

____

 

Some would say, “just learn how to use  your left hand!”. But it wasn’t just the arm that was crushed that day. Before, there had only been rocks in her path, and now God suddenly planted Mt.Everest. It was the crushing of a dream and the hopelessness of a teen. For her it was like a sign was thrust in her way, a sign that said “you’ve been eliminated from this competition”. It’s easy to tell someone to be resilient, but the mind is a very powerful thing.

It’s been a month since he’s seen Yamada and Kayama. Both due to his own psyche and the caring of another, Aizawa was in a very fragile limbo. Ururuka had been discharged from the hospital, but she never came back to tutoring. Only sending “I’m okay” emails from time to time. It unnerved him, how much he cared for another person, how much he wanted to set her back to happiness. He had become attached to her care for Izuku, her blinding smiles, her curious questions. He had become attached to the kid like he had known her all his life. But worst was that unmistakable pain and guilt that he could do nothing to help her smile again.

It was early November when Yamada walks into the coffee shop. One month was left to demolition. Mid-afternoon, soft chatterings in the background, the ambiance had been peaceful, until he sees the tall blond stiffly striding towards him. He has an unreadable expression, eyes low. And Kayama too. He doesn’t notice her until Yamada sits down, but her eyes are much kinder than before. It’s been a while.

     “Hey. You okay?” She speaks first, and Aizawa finds himself not being able to reply. Okay was such a subjective word. Ururuka said it, he said it. It didn’t really mean anything when you were most certainly not okay.

He lets the silence settle, but then Yamada speaks, and it was probably the angriest he ever heard his friend. When Yamada was angry, it sounded more of like "you let me down" rather than "I'm upset with you". Aizawa wasn't sure which was worse.

     “It’s been weeks, and you don’t even want to speak now? You ignored us for a month.”

From the bottom of his heart, Aizawa truly wants to let it spill. But his happiness switch was still broken. There was nothing he could do about it. Kayama’s eyes are sunken, and as she props her chin up with her hands as if a few years have been added to her life between Aizawa and Yamada.

     “I can’t.”

The words kind of float in the air, and Aizawa is exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that comes from his bones. Exhausted from the soul.

     “You can’t? How is that even...How is that even possible?” Yamada’s voice is shockingly upet.

     “I can’t really explain.”

His friend runs a frustrated hand through his hair, earrings dangling in response. That was a new piercing, the one that’s a little higher into his cartilage. Kayama lets out a soft sigh, and watches Aizawa compulsively dry the same cup over and over again.

     “Shouta, you knew it was important to us. You broke your word. So I’m looking for you to offer us a reason why.”

     “He doesn’t have a reason. He’s done this since I’ve known him. He tells you he would do it, but then he loses all will too. You’ve never been good at keeping your promises have you? Tell her. Tell her I’m right.”

 _Promises_. There’s sarcasm and twinge of pain palpable between his words. Aizawa tries to give him some credit, but he wasn't a child to be dealt with scolding. All Yamada was good at was telling him to _be_ a certain way, and never accepting that maybe Aizawa couldn't. He doesn’t even know what Aizawa has been through. It was so easy to say that there was no reason to all of this, that Aizawa was just a shitty friend and human being. But Yamada was not the one experiencing that nothingness. That suffocating muck in his brain. That engulfing quick sand. And a whole universe of hopelessness.

Aizawa starts to feels woozy--it’s been happening a lot lately. A kind of a swaying, unstable feeling. The sounds start to buzz, until he grips the counter and drops his head, hair falling into his eyes.

Yamada doesn’t stop his assault, however.

     “Nemuri, I’ve been friends with him since high school. It’s like he doesn’t care about anyone else. You tell him your greatest achievement and he doesn’t give a shit. You see what I’m saying? Even now, he’s not trying at all. Even after we came all this way,”

    “Stop.” The ringing is louder, and his ears feel scorched. Yamada is not listening.

     “I’ve given everything I could for ten years. I tried really hard to understand you, but all you do is lock yourself away. Aren’t we your friends?”

     “Stop.” He feels like his ears are about to bleed.

     “Did you even ever try to care? Was I a joke? Was I ever a friend to you?”

     “ _Fucking stop.”_

It happens in a split second. The mug in his hand is shattered against the counter, and there’s a shard lodged in his palm. But he doesn’t feel it at all. All he feels is the overwhelming pulsing of his emotions. It matches his heartbeat. Similar to the time Uruaka was in the hospital.

     “Hizashi, why don’t you get it? This was never about you. It’s easy for you to talk to people. It’s easy for you to talk about yourself. You make more friends in a week than I make in a month. I’m jealous that you can...that you can just, _CHOOSE_  to be something and you are. That you can just suddenly decide you want to start a fucking band and you do. That you decide you want to be happy and you are. But I _CAN’T_ . I don’t have that luxury to just BE OKAY. I’ve always felt jealous towards everything that you can be in a second, but that takes me years to become. Can you shut up for two seconds, while I try not to fucking _die_?”

His hands are trembling, and he can hear himself breath, again like he had been running for hours. Like the adverse side effects to having emotions. 

     “ But, why…. _why_ couldn’t you just say that you weren’t okay?” Yamada says this with a slow exasperation, his expression contorted into one of disbelief when Aizawa really looks at him. He looks tired. His blond hair looked drained of color, his glasses looked scuffed. Maybe he’s always been like this, but its the first time Aizawa has noticed.

     “Fine. _Fine_. I’m not...okay. I’m having a lot of trouble. Just being.”

There’s a pocket of silence before Yamada speaks wearily.

     “And this took you ten years, Shouta.”

The coffee shop comes into focus again. And Kayama. She’s still there, spectacles resting against the soft crook of her nose. Hair as jet black as ever. Lips a gentle line of comfort.

     “We're here now,” She whispers.

He’s embarrassed of all those thoughts, but now it’s a dam that has been broken and it comes freely flooding out of his mouth. The uncertainty of the future, the gut-sickening fear of being stuck to nothingness. The sudden closing of the shop he’s spent too many years of his life working at. The dreading, numbing sadness he’s held in his shoulders, and pressed into his veins since high school. The upward feeling of happiness like a roller coaster rising to a peak, but coming to a standstill before it falls. The monotony. The gray. Ochako. The way the light left her eyes. The way the light left her eyes.  The _way the light left her eyes_. The gray.

And they just listened. Aizawa realizes maybe that's all he needed all this time. Anybody to just listen.

 

____

 

A few days later, Aizawa got an idea.

 

____

 

Yamada still doesn’t talk to him much, and it was unusual for a man whose profession was talking. Aizawa felt he deserved the silence---despite it all, it did look like he didn’t trust his best friend with something that had consumed his life for so long. He hadn't been quite help to anybody, just weakly and easily succumbing to the shadows. And...you don’t usually talk about something like that. It wasn’t something you could word, only something you could feel.

But today, he was hoping he could at least be of use to one person. He knew Ururaka wouldn’t come to the coffee shop so he sets an arrangement at a park instead. At the familiar sight of her bouncy, brunette hair, Aizawa felt a little lift his chest like a balloon. It’s like confirming that she really _was_ okay and it’s only the glove over her right hand that speaks otherwise. Yamada and Kayama flank him on both sides,  and that’s when Yamada realizes the “Ochako”  was one of Aizawa’s students.

     “You didn’t tell me about her either. Since when did you become such a softie?”

Yamada kicks a rock to the street, fists tightly in his pockets.

     “Sorry.” Aizawa says this word easily now. It quite surprised him.

     “I know. You better be."

Aizawa nods, but Yamada cracks a grin, reaching up to tighten his scarf around his neck against the cold.

Kayama leaves them to trot up to the younger with what seemed like an exaggerated spring in her step. She plops next to Ururaka on the bench, much to the confusion of the kid. But then Aizawa comes to vision, and Ururaka manages a tight lipped smile.

     “Hey, problem child.”

     “Hey, Mr.Aizawa. How are you?” Her voice is clear, but quiet, almost stolen by the fall breeze.

     “That was my question. School okay?”

     “Yeah. I mean...no. But, I’m trying.” Her honesty was another reason it was easy to become attached.

     “Trying is better than you think. I wanted you to meet this person, Ochako.”

Kayama is practically beaming, the brightest expression he has ever seen on the crevices of that woman's face. The childish elation in her eyes was much opposite to bold, and studded clothes she was wearing, but Aizawa realizes that's what made her unique in a way--always shattering people's judgmental gazes. Yamada kneels down next to Ururaka as well, brandishing his wide, outrageous smile. It makes her fall at ease. Aizawa felt grateful for his friend.

     “Nemuri, this is Ururaka Ochako, aspiring astronaut, and shamelessly my favorite student. Ururaka, this is Nemuri Kayama, currently an astrophysicist on track to NASA. If you want to be an astronaut, she is the one to go to”

Aizawa still remembers the hollowness of her eyes in the hospital that night. The draining light. The dying star. But today he was also witness to that flickering candle. The diamond that arises from coal under immense pressure. And when Kayama takes the glove off Ururaka’s right hand and clutches the mangled flesh tight without a second of hesitation, the fifteen year old who has been through hell, quivers with all the emotions she could not word. She looks once more like the shy burst of dawn. Unsure and fierce in all it’s entity.

     “Hey there my little astronaut, chin up, you have a long road ahead of you. I’m going to take you to NASA with me!” Kayama raises her left hand and laughs jovially. “Because guess what my new leftie, welcome to the club! I’m going to teach you how to be one!”

 

____

 

_"Cause when I look inside my heart and I tell the truth to me  
Loud and clear my soul cries out with total honesty."_

[[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ij2dnWgj0g)]

____

 

The band has been regularly playing at the coffee shop every night. Set to close next week, this was about the last chance Aizawa had to experience the industrial, bricked interior of what was to become a dentist’s office. Yamada’s back to his boisterous demeanor, although it does seem he’s trying his utmost best to be more understanding. They were acting like they just became friends again. It wasn't so bad though. At age 30+, the two discovered an immense amount of patience they didn't have before. Kayama has become a trusted shoulder to lean on, and most importantly Ururaka’s second mom. Someone ( the universe he guesses) had messed with his happiness switch and attempted to fix it by taping it up. Didn’t quite work, but the light flickered from time to time.

Once more, the bass found its way to his hands, and his cat held a grudge on him for weeks. And though it took him a while, Aizawa started to realize what Kayama meant about "finding yourself" as cheesy at it sounds. It wasn’t supposed to be some sudden, overarching revelation. It wasn’t like something prophetic about his destiny was supposed to pop up during a song.  It was that every note, every dynamic in the music, spoke of a certain feeling. In music, everything meant something, even the slightest of touch. So instead of losing to his mind, he would direct that focus to the strings, matching them with every intake of his breath. He wouldn’t be thinking of the crowd or the eyes that were watching him. He would be thinking about the vibrations against his fingers, the faded noises of claps and cheers, the beat of the drum to the pulsing of his heart and above all that unmistakable, scent of brewing coffee.

It’s not like Aizawa has completely changed. He would still watch tv with his mean cat. He would still tutor math (although the number of students grew). He would still get an incredibly little amount of sleep. Yet he did learn to smile a little more. Talk a little more. _Be there_ a little more. And yesterday he submitted his resume to start teaching Calculus at Ururaka’s highschool. She was somewhere in the crowd too.

This Friday was a loud one, a great number of people waiting for their performance with zeal.  He heard a “GO MR.AIZAWA!” shooting brightly through and he knew with full confidence who that was. Yamada begins to sing, his acoustic guitar echoing incredible noises. Aizawa begins his own stretch, and through it all, he finds Kayama’s eyes. She smiles, almost as if her midnight hair held all the stars of the night sky. And for once, he smiles back.

Aizawa was not one for complete, 100% transparency.

But he was at 90% these days. And that was pretty damn close.

  



End file.
